The story of modern wine and food
MY MOTHER: “So I brought in the wine that you carried home with you, and they gave me this wine, it’s fizzy, it’s a style called frizzante.”
MY FATHER: “It’s a spritzer. Where is it from?”
MY MOTHER: “The ‘Piedmonte’ region. Which, by the way…where is it again?”
ME: “It’s near Spritzerland.”
MY FATHER: “That’s good, that’s like ‘Cowschwitz,’ though I don’t think that was original with you.”
ME: “Nope, that was from Michelle Chihara.”
MY FATHER: “Well, it’s perfect. Because now Lois says it every time we drive through there. ‘Cowschwitz!’”
ME: “You’re still angry about those steaks from Harris Ranch?”
MY MOTHER: “Oh, God.”
MY FATHER: “They were from Cowschwitz. No wonder they tasted like cow schwitz!”
Sounds like a Moolander tale. Fashionably fizzy ribs in a brick schwitzhouse?